


Butterfly Effect

by Kymopoleia



Series: Senior Breakfast [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Butterflies, M/M, but there ARE, dash/vlad doesn't start yet, none of them talk, there are girls present i swear, this just sets the scene, vlad needs to chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:30:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kymopoleia/pseuds/Kymopoleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dash straightened his varsity jacket nervously, twisting and turning this way and that to look at himself from every angle. It was Homecoming and everything had to be perfect. There was the game tonight, the dance tomorrow, and then he was set for the season. The year. Maybe, if college scouts showed up, his life.</p><p>It was a big day. It might even be a good one. No matter what, he couldn’t ruin it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterfly Effect

Other than his nervousness, it had been fine in the beginning. His car had run well, his coffee had been hot, the music on the radio had been fun, and Kwan’s smile had been infectious. His smile told Dash everything he needed to know- that Kwan was confident in their chances, that Kwan thought he could pull it off, that Kwan thought he looked good enough to go in front of the whole school and work his ass off to start the season off right.

The day, beyond that, was an honest blur. He was too nervous to eat anything, too anxious to sit still, absolutely itching for action. He couldn’t focus in any of his classes- though he wasn’t really expected to. He was a senior, the quarterback, and keeping a solid B minus through the whole board. He could do better if he tried, but he didn’t exactly try. He’d care when the season ended, when he hit college, when he landed a job that could sustain him and an apartment and his dog. At this point, that was all he kept working to do. If he couldn’t support his dog, and the inevitable dog after her death, and the dog after that, then Dash would be disappointing Pookie. Disappointing his dog was what had made him straighten up his act back in sophomore year- made him stop wasting his time bullying kids, made him go harder into tutoring with Jazz, made him think about the consequences of his actions and figure out a way to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid again.

The only time Dash came out of his anxious haze was when, in the men’s restroom, he runs into Fenton.

Fenton looked a lot better. He’d realized halfway through junior year that Dash didn’t care anymore, that Dash wasn’t willing to touch him anymore, wasn’t willing to acknowledge him beyond a nod in the hallways and handing him a pencil when he’d forgotten. Fenton was a junior now, a junior with a head of messy hair that got messier with every year and bright blue-green eyes that got greener with every day.

“Good luck on the game, Dash.” Danny says when he pauses behind Dash as the blond washes his hands.

Dash glances up to look at Danny through the dingy cracked mirror, amazed that he’d found a bathroom that still had a non-graffiti-covered mirror. “Thanks Fenton.”

“Still just Fenton? No ‘Fentina’ or ‘Fenturd’ for old time’s sake?” Danny asks.

Dash hums. “No.”

“Why not? Why did you stop bothering me?” Danny presses.

“Because I don’t care about you.” Dash sighs.

Danny’s eyebrows rise. “You don’t care about me?”

Dash turns around, wiping his hands on his pants. “Yeah. I don’t care. I don’t care what you wear or what weird shit you do, and I definitely don’t care what you and Manson and Foley do. I have better shit to do.”

Danny leaned against a wall. “Can I ask why you don’t care?” His eyes look excitement embodied, fireworks trapped behind a fleshy mask of smugness and a matted chunk of hair up top. His eyes outshine his pretty cheekbones and the smattering of freckles, doubtless caused from years of screwing around in the sun, Dash didn’t remember the freckles from when they were kids. He crosses his arms and stares at Dash, eyes focused so absolutely and intensely that Dash shifts uncomfortably.

“It’s none of your business, dweebapalooza. Want feelsy Jock Talks? Hit Valerie up.” Dash shoves his hands in his pockets in his jacket. “Or you coulda, if you hadn’t fucked her up enough to quit them all.”

Danny lets him go, and Dash doesn’t look back to see his face.

That might have been the other reason Dash had dropped Danny like tickets to Comic-Con. Valerie had been his track buddy, the only one on the whole team who could keep up with him and make him work hard enough to get better. She’d had his back. But then there’d been some mess between her and Danny that resulted in her quitting track and softball and soccer. She’d quit, her dad had lost his job, and she’d been kicked off the A-list and started working at the Nasty Burger, and Dash had been upset about the whole thing until he’d looked down at his whining dog and realized that Fenton, for all his faults, was a dog person too. Fenton had a dog- a weird dog, a ghost dog, but a dog. Fenton had a dog and was a real person, despite being an idiot and smug and weird. He was a dog person, just like Dash, and Dash couldn’t keep screwing with him for no reason.

Besides. Dash didn’t care anymore.

He walks with his hands in his pockets until he hits his classroom, then wanders for a few more minutes to clear his head. He had to think about something else, something safe, something that would keep him hyped for Homecoming.

If he played this game, he could go home sweaty and tired and sleep late the next morning. He already had his suit and ticket and everything, and he’d get to have a big lunch with everyone before they went to their different appointments, and when he got to Homecoming he’d stay up late dancing with his friends and pretending he wasn’t as out of it then as he was now. It was what he expected. It was what he was hoping for. It was what he needed.

But, just like the stale air in the hallways, it wasn’t what he really needed. He needed a break. He needed to breathe and escape the repetition of school, he needed to get out of his house and go somewhere clean and he needed to sleep in a bed that wasn’t his and he needed to see something new. After being a military brat for about a decade, coming back to his hometown and staying there for four years was the opposite of good for him.

Finally, he steps back into the classroom, back into the repetition, and settles next to Kwan, already feeling his head rocketing towards the clouds.

Lunch is just as uneventful as his classes, and the parade right after is even worse. It’s a fuzzy splash of color on a blurry day, just another Homecoming parade.

School ends and the team goes out to the field to prep. They had a good group this year, a firm mix of their best upperclassmen with their most promising lowerclassmen. Dash, despite his reputation, was nice to the kids. They weren’t the smartest, but he wasn’t either. They were trying, and he liked seeing something fresh in the new players. Kwan saw it too, stood by Dash as he tried to get the kids on track and keep them on track. They were trying to start a better group of jocks, one that wouldn’t be as awful from the start.

They found it a lot easier than they would have if they’d been trying to reach earlier versions of themselves.

But, when everyone is showered and ready for the game, face paint applied and jerseys on, Dash feels the stress and the cloudy haze melt away. Because when he’s on the field, he’s okay. When he’s with his teammates, he’s okay. When they’re facing their opponents, heads in the game and the smell of fresh chalk and newly cut grass around them, he’s okay.

The stands full of cheering classmates are just a bonus. Icing on the cake, ice cream on their pie, ice in their sweet tea, a cool breeze on a sunny day. Paulina and Star and Ashley are with the cheerleaders, Dale and Kwan already standing in front of the team.

When Dash feels the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, he knows something’s wrong.

He hadn’t been this nervous since sophomore year, when their opponents were practically the size of monster trucks and when they were completely helpless against them. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first date with Ashley, back in the summer before their freshman year, when he was the nicest boy in the school and when she was the funniest. He hadn’t been this nervous since when his Dad explained that they had to move out of Amity for his next assignment. He hadn’t been this nervous since his Dad left him at his cousin Star’s place, not wanting Dash to come with him and his mother out of the country.

When Dash was this nervous, it meant something was about to change.

He ignores it as he walks over to Kwan, slips an arm around his bro’s shoulders. “Ready?”

Kwan turns to him, a half smile quirking up into a full smile. He never could keep his lips down when Dash was around. “Yeah, ready as we will be.”

Dash hums. “No, not them. You, man. Are you ready?”

Kwan laughs deeply, from his chest. Maybe lower. His voice had always been deeper than Dash’s, and puberty had been kind to him. “Of course I’m ready. This is the game that starts the year, man. Kick it off right, and things will only get better.”

Dash’s stomach churns ominously, but he manages a small laugh of his own. “Only get better. We’ll see about that, man.”

Kwan hip-checks him so that Dash will pull his arm off, going to talk to the coach for a second.

About then is when Dash notices Mayor Masters, hovering on the sidelines with his suit’s lines crisp and his hair pulled back neatly. One of the Referees is next to him, making small talk. Just seeing such an important figure- and, upon looking up at the stands, all the different college scouts- makes his stomach heave violently and gives him a burst of confidence. Because on one hand, he’s been overperforming and showing off his skills for three years. On the other, his game has been off all day, and if he doesn’t make it tonight, he won’t be able to do what he needs to do.

Star and Ashley are both at the tops of a pair of pyramids, shaking their pom-poms and echoing Paulina’s cheer. The speakers are playing a rock song so lowly that he can’t make out the lyrics, but loud enough that the beat fuels the fans’ cheering and the cheerleader’s yelling. If he’d never been to a game before, it would have felt like pandemonium, but the chill in the air from the creeping fall freeze is giving the Ravens just enough bite to feel _right_.

Dash turns, forcing his gaze from the Mayor, from the referee, from searching the stands for his aunt and uncle and Kwan’s parents, from searching the stands for Valerie, forcing himself to focus on his team. If nothing else, he had to think about the team. He couldn’t win if he didn’t work with them.

Kwan pulls everyone in for a huddle, and being surrounded by his team helps Dash get his head straight.

“We know what we’re doing, right?” He asks, only to receive a chorus of agreeable grunts and whoops. “We’ve been through this! We’ve practiced and practiced. This is the strongest team I’ve had the opportunity to be part of, and we aren’t going to rely on luck to do this. We are not going to let the other team beat us on our own turf! We are Ravens, got it? We are Casper High Ravens, and when they think they can fuck with us, what do we say?”

“Nevermore! Nevermore! Nevermore!” The whole team chants together, undoubtedly heard by everyone on their stands, let alone everyone on the opposite team’s stands.

Dash claps Kwan and Dale’s backs and pulls back, starting to feel his ache ease, just a bit. His team had it together. They could do anything they needed to do to win this game because they had each other.

Despite the sudden burst of confidence, Dash still feels the butterflies attacking each other in his stomach.

###### 

By halftime, they’re 27-14 the lead, confident in their win. Dash’s hair is a mess on his forehead, plastered to it and barely hanging in his eyes.

The band comes out and starts playing some well-practiced tune, much better than they’d been in freshman or sophomore year.

Dash goes over to grab his water bottle, breath coming hard and helmet barely thrown off. Kwan is by Dale, leaning on him and trying to ease up on his sore ankle. He’d had the ball at one point and gotten covered in guys, and someone’s cleats had practically stabbed him.

He’s barely opened up the water and sprayed it over his face, hot despite the chill, when one of the younger players comes up to him, raps his knuckles on Dash’s elbow, shouts over the clatter of instruments that 'Mister Masters' wanted to talk to him.

If Dash drags his feet, that’s between him and Mayor Masters. He gets his breath back, gulps down water like this game is the last time he will ever be able to drink again. He talks to the coach, sees about getting a sophomore, Miguel, to take his place. The kid showed promise and he wanted to give him as much of a chance to shine as he needed to breathe.

Seemed like every time it came down to it, he just needed to breathe.

When he finally makes it to Mayor Masters, the only thing that’s still bothering him is the butterflies in his stomach.

“Dash Baxter.” The Mayor starts, tone quiet and reserved, barely reaching Dash, just an arm-length away, over the shouts from the cheerleaders and the din of the band.

Dash reaches up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Mayor Masters.”

Mayor Masters’ mouth curves up into a smile. “Are you starting after halftime?”

Dash glances back at Kwan, at Miguel, at the coach. “Nah. I mean no, sir.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Miguel- 29- he’s starting. Sophomore. Want him to take my place when I’m gone.”

“Call me Vlad, son, and walk with me.” Mayor Masters half-turns, and Dash immediately falls into step. “Is that all you’re worried about, Mr. Baxter? Your high school legacy?”

Dash coughs into his hand, the breeze making the beads of sweat feel like ice. “Call me Dash, sir. Vlad.”

Vlad nods. “A wise choice.”

Dash cracks a half smile, the butterflies pausing to take note of Vlad’s profile, the telltale crook of his nose, the way his smile looks and the barely-there crack of a scar on his upper lip. Dash looks over at this other, older man, and for a brief second, feels a bit more… at ease. The butterflies don’t even matter.

“Well? What do you plan to make of your life? Will you be another in a long line of high school quarterbacks, or are you aiming higher? Wanting something more?”

Dash blinks, shakes the sweat out of his eyes. “I want to go to college, sir. Play football there, maybe make it to the NFL, if I’m lucky.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Baxter.” Vlad pauses for a half second, his step slowing as he mulls over his next thought, letting it marinate over his tongue. “ _Dash._ ” he returns to his normal pace, ignoring how his tone had affected his walking partner. “Surely you know by now, none of this is achieved with luck.”

Dash nods. “Told my boys- my team- that before the game. Even if luck isn’t what gets me, or anyone, places, can’t hurt to have it, right?”

“In my experience,” Vlad pauses with Dash at the far end of the bleachers, where there is almost no one milling around, almost no one to see them. They’re hidden in plain sight. “Luck is never on the side of those most deserving.”

Dash cracks a half-grin. “I never said I was one of the most deserving, Vlad.”

Vlad lifts a hand to brush pieces of grass from Dash’s shoulder. “Neither did I.”

The butterflies act up as cheers erupt around them, and Dash breaks eye contact with the mayor to see what had happened. Amazingly, at the end of the field, under one of the goals, is an awestruck Miguel, the ball held in the crook of his arm and his mouth wide in a massive smile.

“It looks like your legacy just made a touchdown.” Vlad muses, hand squeezing Dash’s shoulder. “If you are serious about your future, and are looking for a pot of luck at the end of the rainbow- well, I’ve heard the carpet leading to my desk covers a myriad of colors, fit for any rainbow.”

Dash shudders, tearing his eyes from Miguel to catch Vlad’s. “Does the pot include scholarships?”

“The pot includes whatever you want, Dash. Mr. Baxter. You know, they are retiring a number from the Packers soon. If you make it to the team in time, you could inherit your own legacy.”

Dash’s eyes light up, and the butterflies clear completely, banished by the mayor’s smile. “Are you a Packers fan?”

Vlad raises an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“I’d kill to be on the Packers, the green and gold have been my colors since I could pick favorites!” Dash lets excitement flood his tone.

Vlad squeezes his shoulder again. “The pot of luck grows with every word out of your mouth, Dash.”

###### 

The locker room is filled with excited yells and whoops as they dress down, taking quick showers and, in most cases, preparing to head to after-parties. They’d won the game thanks to Dash’s efforts in the first half and Miguel’s in the second. Between the two of them, and the support from the rest of the team, the other team had had no chance of beating him.

Dash has always had a reputation for taking the longest in the showers, totally killing the hot water, if there is any by the time he gets there. Even now, hyped after such a big win, the exhaustion settles in his bones and makes him sluggish as he undoes all of his gear, pulling it off slowly and letting Kwan and Dale babble at each other next to them. Even though everyone had been there, they still talk as if they’re the only ones who’d seen it, the only ones on the whole field.

“Did you see when Miguel jumped OVER that guy? With the ball?? How crazy was that!”

“Did you see who took down the guy heading straight for Dash when he fumbled in the first quarter? Me, baby!”

“Did you see what the cheerleaders did during halftime? Brooooo-“

“Bro! It was so good!”

Dash rolls his eyes as he works on getting his shoes off. “I don’t know how you both can _talk_ so much. Aren’t you tired?”

Kwan laughs at him, and Dale shoves his shoulder with one hand. “How can you NOT be this excited? That was the strongest start we’ve ever had! The ghosts in Amity are smiling down!”

Dash pauses. “The ghosts in Amity? Bro, are you talking about the crazy ones that attack like, three times a month? At minimum?”

Dale shakes his head. “Nah man, the chill ones. Like Phantom and- ah, damn, what’s the other one, Kwan?”

“Ember? Skulker? Pandora?” Kwan volunteers. “They’re all cool.”

Dale nods, turning back to Dash. “Yep, those ghosts. The cool ones.”

Dash pauses. “Not gonna fight you on Ember, but Skulker? Dude tried to kill me and Phantom back in sophomore year. Not really cool.”

“Bro, last year, when we were in a slump, Skulker was stuck as our coach for a month. Dude had a killer training regimen that got us all the way to State!”

Dash rolls his eyes. “We got to State because we were good, not because of that ghost.”

Kwan waggles his finger at Dash. “Give credit where credit is due, man.”

Dash crosses his arms. “No credit is due.”

Kwan stands and shimmies out of his pants, shorts, and underwear, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Think it over while you take your eternity shower, man.” He says as he walks towards the showers.

Dale nods at Dash as he follows Kwan, already naked. Dash is left, still mostly clothed, the locker room already half empty around him.

He sighs and runs a hand through his still-wet hair tiredly. His bros weren’t always the brightest bulbs in the room.


End file.
